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The boys we love

I'm the one who ruined me: I did it myself

No Longer Human // Ask Polly: Help, I'm The Loneliest Person In The World! // Franz Kafka // Sue Zhao // Fingertips - Fortesa Latifi // Crime and Punishment - Fyodor Dostoevsky // Juansen Dizon // The Garden of Eden - Ernest Hemingway // On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous - Ocean Vuong

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🚨 Hello friends 🇵🇸

I am Maram Nabulsi from Gaza, a 17-year-old girl. My home in Khan Younis was destroyed, and I found myself and my family living in a camp for displaced people in Mawasi Khan Younis, under the scorching sun, inside a tent swaying in the wind.

Every day is a new battle. I was deprived of studying for my last year in school and graduating from it, my dream of joining the human medicine specialization was taken away from me, my hopes and dreams have faded since the outbreak of these damned events on October 7. 🇵🇸

I feel as if the world has abandoned me, and no one cares. In our small tent, we are under physical and emotional siege. Every night I reach my hands to the sky, and ask God to give me the strength to overcome this nightmare, I need your help to save my life and complete my dream abroad

gofundme.com

Donate to Please help my family in Gaza, organized by Nabulsi Family

Hello, I am Mohammed nabulsi . My family consists of five members and we live in Khan Yun… Nabulsi Family needs your support for Please help

Please donate +20€ to save my life🙏❤️‍🩹

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BREAKING: The massacres committed by israel from Tuesday’s dawn till now - 84 Palestinians killed!

14 martyrs, including the sister of the head of the political bureau of Hamas, in the bombing of a house in the Beach camp, west of Gaza City.

12 martyrs, most of them children and women, as a result of the occupation bombing of a school to shelter displaced people in central Gaza City.

More than 30 martyrs, most of them women and children, in 3 massacres committed by the occupation by bombing two homes and a shelter center in different areas of the Gaza Strip.

3 martyrs after the occupation bombed a group of Palestinians on Al Wahda Street in Gaza City.

Gaza Civil Defense: Our crews recovered 13 martyrs as a result of three attacks in Gaza Governorate.

The number of victims of the massacre in the Bani Suhaila roundabout in the center of Khan Yunis rose to 10 martyrs and dozens of wounded.

Two martyrs in an Israeli bombing that targeted a house in the Shujaiya neighborhood, east of Gaza City.

BREAKING: 15 Killed in Al Shati’ camp including 9 from Ismail Hineyah’s Family.

The Haniyeh family members were killed after the bombing of their home in the shati’ camp, west of Gaza, included the sister of the head of the Hamas political bureau Ismail Haniyeh and his wife, their names:

Zahr Abdel Salam Haniyeh (Nahed’s mother)

Nahed Ghazi Haniyeh

His wife, Iman Ahmed Haniyeh

Muhammad Nahed Haniyeh

Ismail Nahed Haniyeh

Moamen Nahed Haniyeh

Zahr Nahed Haniyeh

Shahad Nahed Haniyeh

Amal Nahed Haniyeh A number of them are still under the rubble

Anger

I had a breakdown again earlier today.

Like something hot and red and ugly and just so much hatred with no target to shoot it on. For some reason I thought is this how Jason Todd had felt? Or maybe is this how Bruce Wayne felt once he grew up and realized how on earth does people like Joe Chill can get away with so little and he in that one night, lost everything he knew?

With so much hatred and anger and just this huge hole in your heart that felt more like it was ripped away from you rather than just being taken? Is this how being angry at the world feels like? Angry at everything that has happened? Is this how craving for vengeance feels like?

I remember being told that revenge has a smell and it is sweet, and almost dizzying like an aphrodisiac.

I remember clutching the front of my shirt and felt how stuck my scream felt in my throat and I can’t just scream it out with my brother across the hallway and my sister downstairs.

I can’t do this, I can’t keep this in, I can’t keep on doing this.

I remember a time we were told that the whole family has anger issues.

Dad is a bomb, ticking and ticking with the time always border lining on 0 every time he tries to pushes us too far to the edge and he seems eager for us to push him back in retaliation.

Mom keeps it in until something bad & ugly & stupid & disrespectful happens from us, and there comes the screams and the glares and the disappointment.

My brother’s anger is physical, he hits you and pulls in some punches just to make you hurt the same way he does.

My sister’s anger is physical as well, but in the way it’s childish because still, she is still a child.

More often than not, her anger pushes dad’s clock to 0 as well and that will sometimes reign in Mom’s disappointment and if it isn’t her pushing it to explode, it will be my brother’s idea of rebellious retaliation.

And I’ll stand there.

Just a soldier, standing still in the minefield as the shots keep flying and the bombs kept giving way.

Silence become my defense as it was never really my weapon.

And growing up with the understanding how much power and destruction a bomb can hold, well I know how dangerous a wrath’s path can be.

So, I reign it in. So, I push every single pure, pure anger that threatens to boil to the surface.

My grief sometimes overcome my anger I think, enough so that I forgot that I can be angry sometimes.

My anger, I think, is physical as well.

My anger, I think, is the opposite of who I fights to become.

My anger, I think, is not a bomb, or a silent glare or a bursting scream.

My anger creeps in, my knuckles throb with every poison that rushes through my vein.

I don’t get angry, I don’t, I won’t, I never.

I don’t get angry because if I do, I don’t know how I’ll face the aftermath of it.

I can feel it, when it pulses, when it tries to fight through the restraints. I can feel it when my veins are filled with adrenaline and the want, the need to just, hurt. I can feel it and I know it’s there ‘because I can feel my eyes harden, I can feel my legs muscle constrict with the will to run towards the anger itself, I can feel my grip tightens around on itself ‘because I want to hit and punch and injure and hurt, hurt, hurt.

And I buries it in.

I learn to let out the insults because it soothes the fire but if you’ve been trapping the flames in an oxygen cavity and keep adding to it without ever giving it a chance to see the light of day, a verbal fight does little to calm it.

I learn that after letting out the insults, to give it time, time to turn it into guilt and grief instead.

Dr K thinks that what I’m doing might as well be the equivalent of driving a brake-less car down the hill only to run into an explosion then crashes down into the ocean with nowhere to escape out of the car.

Like letting in the adrenaline rushes through you only to trap everything in and let it consumes you.

I’ve told her that the analogy was exaggerative, I think.

I’ve crashed at the moment now.

I think it’s ironic that I used the rain and the sound of the crashing waves to calm me down.

I hate being angry.

I hate it because it isn’t me but it proves that it’s a primal instinct of mine when I didn’t bother with my mask.

All of us have masks.

I’ve seen Dad used it around his colleagues or when the topic of Grandpa comes up or when Grandma was talking about her time just around the corner.

I’ve seen Mom used it around her ‘friends’, true or not, and I’ve seen it around us when she’s far too tired and she’s far too aware of her greying hair.

I’ve seen my brother using it the most around us, never being able to settle into his skin even with those who he should trust the most.

I’ve seen it with my sister, the way she brushes off any signs of emotional vulnerability other than irritation ‘because she thought everybody would use it as a weapon against her intelligence.

I’ve seen it in the mirror of the 5-star bathroom at school, the one everybody goes to because it’s the only ones that works. Most of the time, anyways.

I’ve seen it on my friends and I’ve seen it crumbles in the anticipation of days leading up to what was the most important event of our lives as high school students back then.

Someone asked me, if I’ve cried it yet, implying if I’ve succumbed to the world-heavy pressure of the future yet. If I’ve sat down and bawled my eyes out as I realized how short on time we always seemed.

I told them, no.

There are a few strays of tears I’ve let past in the days leading up to it but I know if I sat down properly and let it out – I don’t know how much it’ll take for me to stand up again. Or if I’m ever strong enough for it anyways.

I hate grief.

And I hate my anger even more.

And as my vision blurs with the tears in my eyes that I won’t let out, and my knuckles are white as I grip the box holding in the razors tightly – I wish, I wish I never knew how safe and suffocating a mask can feel.  

gofundme.com

Donate to Help haneen and mohamed evacuate and get treatment, organized by Mohamed Aljamala

Haneen and mohammad have been married for four years sharing a tru… Mohamed Aljamala needs your support for Help haneen and mohamed evacuate

My name is haneen , We have been married me and mohamed for 6years full of love and warmth.

All those 6years we have been trying to have babies like every loving couple .

After a lot of trying i got finally pregnant but the war of 2021 took that baby from me .

And in this horrible war i lost a second baby while going from north to south.

We are living in a horrible conditions and we couldn’t handle our loss.

Please help us to evacuate and get treatment so our dream of having a baby becomes true .

this year while we all celebrate pride month and celebrate ourselves as well as those who came before us and paved the way for us to do so, we must also think of those in gaza, queer or not, who live every day under a brutal occupation and don’t have that same privilege. happy pride, and may we see a free palestine in this lifetime.